


Contredanse

by Jay Tryfanstone (tryfanstone)



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Domesticity, F/F, Pemberley, Post-Canon, Unexpected Visitors, Wayback Exchange 2020, Wayback Exchange 2020 Pinch Hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryfanstone/pseuds/Jay%20Tryfanstone
Summary: Would Miss Bingley care for refreshment? Oh, a sip of tea only. Perhaps a wafer. Was the room to her taste? Oh, everything was always of the highest order at Pemberley. How was Mr. Bingley? And Jane? Was all well in London? "Oh, yes," said Miss Bingley, and looked positively bilious. "They are very well indeed."
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Caroline Bingley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38
Collections: Wayback Exchange 2020





	Contredanse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highsmith (quimtessence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/gifts).



The rose drawing room at Pemberley was a spacious apartment, possessed of casement windows opening onto an inviting terrace, below which stretched a well-tended garden. A southerly aspect and a comfortable air meant that the room had quickly become a general favourite with the ladies of the party, who gathered after lunch to read, write letters, and sew - a particular task of Mrs. Gardiner, who trusted none but herself to mend her husband's stockings, and had long passed the age at which accomplishment superseded husbandry. "Let those younger than I embroider fancies and other trumpery," she said to Elizabeth. "I cannot let Mr. Gardner set forth into the world so poorly kempt."

"Indeed no, madam," said Elizabeth. "Nothing could be less affectionate."

"Now you are teazing me," said Mrs. Gardner, "But upon my word, Lizzie, I had rather a dozen good wool stockings than any number of silk purses."

"For walking, without question I should prefer the stockings," said Elizabeth. "But in town, I would venture the purse more efficacious." She glanced up to the desk by the window, where Mr. Darcy frowned over the morning's express. His expression was abstracted, but experience suggested he was more engaged than he appeared. "Darcy, do you have an opinion on the matter?"

"I do. But we shall not concur. I have no use for a silk purse, whereas the wool stockings bring to mind the pleasure of an afternoon's fishing. I must set my flag with your good aunt." 

Mr. Darcy's engaging smile was still a surprize to Elizabeth, lending his face a handsome animation. She put aside her own work, and went to him. "Thus compromise is rejected, but in good cause. My uncle currently explores the stream, trout, stockings, and all, and the day is fine. Might you not join him?"

"I cannot, if I am to depart on time. And-" 

Mr. Darcy frowned down again at the brief, over-written express, as if recalled to duty. Elizabeth, who had long been congratulating herself on the ability of the company to draw all into engaging and sometimes playful conversation, was reminded of his considerable reserve. She hesitated. 

"-and indeed, I must ask your opinion, and in this case on a matter of more import than stockings. Bingley writes, in haste, from London. He asked if his sister might come to Pemberley."

"She is used to, is she not?" said Elizabeth slowly, for the present company was all amiability and good cheer. Miss Bingley, rather, presented a memory of sneering condescension. Yet the Bingleys were long friends to the Darcy family and often visitors to Pemberley.

"Not alone," said Mr. Darcy. "And I must away on the instant, if I am to reach the Lakes in time to close on Hill View and set repairs in motion. I would leave your aunt and uncle, and yourself, with all the burden of hospitality." It was clear he had more to say; he tapped the paper on the table, folded it up, and unfolded it. "I surmise some event in London of which Bingley does not write."

His thoughts and hers, moved by the social entanglements of the previous year, conjoined in pity. "I am sure we will welcome the company. Shall we not, aunt?" said Elizabeth.

Yet it was with some trepidation that Elizabeth awaited the arrival of the fashionable and vastly accomplished Miss Bingley, for even in the softened instances of remembrance, she could not reconstruct in their previous relationship any moment of true friendship. She could not forget the barbs of jealousy and consequence which had been directed at her person, nor, most particularly, at her dear Jane, so recently removed by marriage to her new home. Subsequent letters described a wonder of domestic harmony, a smooth transition of responsibility, and convivial evenings of music and readings, and thus suggested to Elizabeth more Jane's excessive amiability than Miss Bingley's graceful resignation from the governance of her brother's household. She feared conflict between the two had prompted Mr. Bingley's uncommon request and both longed for and dreaded news from London, although the post appeared affected by the spring rains, and no further communication from Jane had yet reached Pemberley.

The Miss Bingley who descended from the traveling carriage was, contrary to Elizabeth's expectations, a diminished figure. Her dresses were of the same mode she had always professed, her shoes were as stylish, her hair as well dressed and her elegant maid as skilled, and yet the air of fashion which had made her so handsome an inhabitant of Hertfordshire drawing rooms and London salons seemed worn and faded. She appeared a quieter, slighter and altogether less consequential figure, deferring to Mrs. Gardiner as the senior member of the party, and sadly devoid of either conversation or occupation. To Elizabeth, accustomed as she was to the lively intimacy of a large family, the difference was marked. She had expected to withstand the jaundiced needling of a woman scorned, but from the moment her slippered foot had touched the well-raked gravel of the drive at Pemberley, Miss Bingley had been nothing but what was proper. In fact, in her absence of conduct, she reminded Elizabeth of nothing so much as Miss De Bourgh. 

Would Miss Bingley care for refreshment? Oh, a sip of tea only. Perhaps a wafer. Was the room to her taste? Oh, everything was always of the highest order at Pemberley. How was Mr. Bingley? And Jane? Was all well in London? "Oh, yes," said Miss Bingley, and looked positively bilious. "They are very well indeed." 

Mrs. Gardiner exchanged glances with Elizabeth and suggested a turn about the terrace, recently replanted with an extravagant display of imported bulbs, but even the novelty of the view failed to enliven Miss Bingley. She agreed immediately with the suggestion, merely echoed Mrs. Gardiner's stalwart compliments to the gardener with faint praise, and commented with unenthusiastic fatigue on the expansive view of the Park. Released, she fled to her room, pleading a head-ache. 

Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner exchanged glances, with some concern, and planned a restorative dinner, hoping that the solace of good-humoured masculine company would revive their guest. Mr. Gardiner obliged with his usual well-bred conversation, to which Miss Bingley responded with little animation and lesser engagement. She was, however, polite to a fault, as if the unwelcome thought of _Cheapside relations_ had never crossed her mind. Elizabeth, who had harboured concerns for her aunt and uncle, was both relieved and disconcerted. Had Miss Bingley's attitudes been all sham? Had she been so attuned to those of higher rank and income that her comments had reflected their private convictions, and not her own? 

In turn, the Pemberley ladies offered cards, parlour games, newly published novels, and music, in which Elizabeth had thought Miss Bingley a great interest. All were acquiesced to by their guest, who participated as if viewing their activities through a veil, vague and disconnected. She did not appear ill, Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth agreed in a moment of whispered consultation, but unengaged, as if she participated in a dance to which she knew the moves, but did not discern the music. Elizabeth, increasingly concerned, awaited Jane's letter with pressing impatience.

Yet when Jane's letter finally arrived, it offered no enlightenment. It was a single page, much folded, with sections that were clearly written and others much amended, as if Jane had hesitated at length over what to write. Jane's hand was usually clear and flowing, but her pen had scratched at the page, and her blotting was so uneven a number of lines were fully obscured. One would have thought it a letter written in haste, telling of calamity. Instead, it was a reiteration of activities and thoughts Jane had detailed in earlier correspondence; her happiness, the kindness of Mr. Bingley, her well-appointed new home, and a few details of husbandry as if to illustrate her pleasure in her own household. Only at the last did Jane say, "Our dear sister Caroline is much missed. For my sake, please be kind."

Elizabeth, thinking of her own dear sister and wondering what Jane concealed, did her best.

It was a few days before Miss Bingley regained some of her colour. Her conversation became more animated, she had smiled once or twice in response to Mr. Gardiner's patient kindness, and once she had taken her seat at the excellent piano and entertained the party with a full concerto, played with emphatic feeling. Often, however, Elizabeth felt that she was accompanied by a polite cipher. Increasingly, she left Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bingley to entertain themselves in the morning, taking up herself the tasks of the house to which she was gradually applying her attention. Pemberley was beautiful, and Elizabeth would never have exchanged the great house and park for Netherfield and Jane's London house. Nevertheless, the tasks of its upkeep were far greater in scale than those of her sister's household, and with little instruction imparted from her mother's haphazard husbandry and her father's neglect of his accounts, Elizabeth was dependent on her own good sense and that of her aunt in learning to manage the many demands on her attention. Flower arrangements; Sunday school; menus; sheets; the storage of flour, the training of dairy maids - all of this and more demanded Elizabeth's attention. Assisted she was by Pemberley's excellent housekeeper and well-trained staff, she felt the responsibility exceedingly.

It was not long before, as she had been accustomed to do, she took her work into the drawing room, feeling that Miss Bingley could hardly object if she was unprepared herself to contribute to the general entertainment of the party. The account books were Elizabeth's responsibility alone, but all other issues she was pleased to discuss with her aunt, depending on that lady's kind good sense and her own equitable temperament. It was not long, though, before Miss Bingley offered one or two comments of her own, each a sensible suggestion, and not one familiar to Elizabeth or her aunt. They were pleased to invite Miss Bingley into their consultations, and she pleased to accept. It became swiftly apparent that Miss Bingley had been accustomed to managing the household for her brother and sister for many years, and with their frequent changes of residence and staff, could bring much experience to bear on issues with which Elizabeth struggled. It was also apparent that Miss Bingley was unused to seeing these skills esteemed, and was unfamiliar too with the easy and respectful regard with which Mr. Gardiner regarded his wife and niece. To see their opinions solicited, and their judgement relied upon, in open conversation, and to see that consideration extended to herself, was a circumstance which appeared uncommon in her experience. 

Thus Elizabeth's view of Miss Bingley evolved. It was clear, she believed, that being of a subservient nature, Miss Bingley had followed the unconscious lead of others. The early loss of her parents had forced her into responsibilities which were disregarded by her easy-going brother, despite being material to the health and happiness of the household. Her relationship with her sister, Mrs. Hurst, provided that contempt for persons she perceived as being below her in rank, together with a habit of slighting conversation and careless acquaintanceship. And when in company with those of stronger character, like Mr. Darcy, in pursuit of validation, she had learned to bend her own conversation and wit to theirs. With the sensible companionship of the Gardiners, Miss Bingley's sensibilities, it seemed, could be engaged, and her conversation was entirely responsive to that of the Pemberley party, a honest and friendly companionship to which Elizabeth suspected she was unaccustomed.

Her pity thus evoked, Elizabeth could not but bring herself, as Jane had requested, to kindness.

While Elizabeth's opinion had changed, for Miss Bingley, much remained the same. It was true that the company in which she found herself was sensible and accomplished beyond her accustomed society, but yet the habits of obsequiousness and supercilious commentary were impossible for her to discard. Deprived of any person of higher rank, she must perforce turn to her hosts for the direction of her conversation, slowly discerning their interests and concerns, and integrating herself into their society. She could not but hold a private contempt for their manners and behaviour, mocking the shop-keeping habit of discussing domestic concerns in the drawing room - but only in conversation with her own maid, the one confident left to her. And yet, she was hungry, too, for the kindness shewn to her. In public, she was all amiability, cultivating friendship; in private, she was torn between jealousy of Elizabeth's current state and envy of her role - just as she had admired and resented Elizabeth's sister. 

Jane, Miss Bingley felt, had wielded her calm beauty like a weapon. Elizabeth, with her sparkling dark eyes and playfulness, was equally distracting. There were moments, indeed, as she had experienced with the older sister, when Miss Bingley felt entirely captivated by the younger's infuriating, beguiling countenance; enchanted, indeed, by a pair of very fine eyes. This, she did her best to disguise, although without the distractions of town life her own inclinations, unfulfilled, were a constant companion, and her awareness of the status she had lost a lingering torment.

While many of the tasks with which Elizabeth was familiarising herself were routine, and to some degree familiar to her or her aunt, there were others which were uncommon even at Pemberley. She knew already, for example, that the harvest festival and Christmas celebrations would require considerable investment from the Pemberley household, but there were other, lesser tasks which still required attention. One of these was the counting of the silver, a monthly task which Pemberley's elderly butler had refused to relinquish, and yet found increasingly demanding, for the collection was extensive and many parts of it were heavy and difficult to handle. Thus appealed to, Elizabeth pled innocent curiousity, and suggested with as much tact as she could bring to bear that she herself undertake the survey, with the expert instruction of butler and housekeeper. Compromise being reached, on one fine afternoon she found herself so employed, alone in the butler's pantry and beyond the servants' door. The room was small, lit by a single narrow window obscured by ivy, and lined with shelves, each furnished with green baize and thus displaying the Pemberley silver. There were a pair of aged chairs and a broad table equipped with a heavy covering, and for the purposes of the survey Elizabeth had with her the catalogue of pieces, several pens, ink, blotting paper, and white cotton gloves, an array of equipment native to the task at Pemberley which would have been entirely unfamiliar so employed at Longbourne. 

The suspicion of being watched was not the companion she expected. The task was lengthy, and exacting, the room small enough to preclude company, and yet Elizabeth was aware at intervals of an indefinable consciousness of observation, inexplicable but undeniably present. Glancing out from the window revealed only the bare flagstones of the servants' yard, while footsteps outside the door belonged only to the hurrying figures of preoccupied domestic staff. Still Elizabeth, starting and uneasy, hurried. 

She was struggling with a particularly heavy epergne when the most unexpected of assistants arrived. It was Miss Bingley, the last person Elizabeth would have expected to find in the servants' quarters, whose hands joined hers, and who aided in the restoration of the silver swan and its cygnets to the shelf. 

"I am most grateful for your assistance," said Elizabeth, still a little breathless.

"It is of no matter," said Miss Bingley, a trifle stiffly. 

She was as fashionably dressed as ever. Elizabeth, practically garbed in her oldest dress, was aware of a slight envy, for there was no doubt that Miss Bingley looked well. There was colour in her face, and animation, so very much more appealing that the waxen countenance she had presented on her arrival at Pemberley. Yet there was a nervousness, too, in the twist of her hands, and the appeal of her large eyes, fixed on Elisabeth's own.

Elizabeth had been conscious, in the past few days, of the echo of her own thoughts in Miss Bingley's conversation. As she had looked to Mr. Darcy, it seemed that Miss Bingley was looking now to Elizabeth, directing what wit and wisdom she possessed in Elizabeth's direction. Aware as she was Elizabeth could not but feel flattered that Miss Bingley had turned so readily towards her words, and hoped that the understanding Miss Bingley demonstrated was leading her beyond flattery to true friendship. 

"I was accustomed to assist our own domestics on occasion," said Miss Bingley. "And your own dear sweet Jane, of course."

Such words softened Elisabeth's heart on the instant. "I should be delighted by your company, and your aid has already been most welcome."

"There are some weighted pieces," said Miss Bingley, eying the epergne. "I suspicion there must be over twenty pounds of silver in such a construction."

"Indeed so."

"One wonders at the freedom with which it may be accessed."

"I had not so considered," said Elizabeth, who had not, for theft did not commonly spring to her mind. "But I am entirely conscious, I promise you, of those twenty pounds, and am glad indeed that was the last of the larger vessels I must count. Let us assess instead these implements - the catalogue notes fourteen spoons for tureens. Do you suppose these might be they?"

For a few minutes they worked together in harmony, but Elizabeth was still feeling the effects of her morning's work, and had to stop on occasion to ease her weary arms and shoulders. Miss Bingley's sharp eyes noted her discomfort, as Elizabeth rearranged her shawl and rubbed at the aches under it.

"Oftentimes I would - but perhaps it is too intimate a demonstration on so brief an acquaintance."

"If you know a means by which to ease these aches, I should be glad to hear it."

"Your sister had a preference for - but I say too much. Such skills are not to be shewn in common."

"Nonsense! If you were kind enough to assist Jane-" said Elizabeth, and reaching out, pushed the door close. "-Miss Bingley, pray exercise your skill in privacy."

The faint blush which had risen to Miss Bingley's cheeks had also, Elizabeth noted, lent an unaccustomed brightness to her eyes. She made a note of it, for if so little a acknowledgment of value allowed such results, repetition might well restore the beauty Miss Bingley must have owned in earlier years.

"Then...might I ask you to change your posture, so that I may assist you? If you were to remove that chair, so that you were to sit beside the table, and I able to stand before you...just so." 

Elizabeth, seated, had a remarkable view of Miss Bingley's shot silk gown, of her trim waistline, and the shawl that covered her chest. Her skin, Elizabeth could not but notice, was so pale and fine as to suggest Miss Bingley never set foot out of doors.

"Close your eyes, if you please," said Miss Bingley.

Elizabeth pleased. Of an instant, every sense which was not sight reported to her; the scent of dust and silver polish, Miss Bingley's eau de vie, a heady, rose-scented perfume, the rustle of silk, the sensation of her own soft-soled house slipper on the floorboards and the tenderness of her foot within it, and above all, the ache in her shoulders bespeaking the morning's exertions. Then, a shadow of warmth. Miss Bingley's voice was close to intimate.

"Please do not be afraid. I am going to touch you now." 

She did, clasping Elizabeth's upper arms. Elizabeth was instantly aware of each separate finger, and every nuance of the light pressure of that touch. Miss Bingley held still for a moment, as if accustoming Elizabeth to her closeness, and then she began to stroke, with varying pressure. At Elizabeth's shoulders her touch went deep, as if searching for every ache, but eased as she stroked down each arm. Where she left off, her touch was the lightest of caresses. Paradoxically, Elizabeth felt the easing of weariness and the same time, a peculiar tightening, as if in expectation. 

"Your sister and you are not, I think, that alike in looks," Miss Bingley said softly, "Nevertheless, there is, I think, a resemblance which is more telling when studied."

"Jane is of course, far more beautiful," said Elizabeth.

"Really?" said Miss Bingley, not ceasing her ministrations. "I should have thought you, not equals, but possessed of equal charms, I declare you the owner of remarkably fine eyes."

"Oh, no, Jane's are...far finer," said Elizabeth, aware of the most peculiar and confusing sensations. Her breath was coming short, as if her corset was too tight, and there was a warmth in her lower body. Was it her imagination, or was Miss Bingley's touch more demanding?

"And you must let me know by what secret you darken your eyelashes," said Miss Bingley. "Might I ease your shawl?"

"Please, do - I find - it is close in this small room."

"I have long admired your complexion," continued Miss Bingley. "And have said so often to my own sister." 

Her breast was close to Elizabeth's own, her breath a whisper against her cheek, her touch a teaze and a release at once, rhythmic strokes that eased one ache and fired another. Elizabeth shuddered.

"Oh, but you are unwell!" said Miss Bingley, tenderly. "Shall I stop?" Her fingers lingered, and then her fingertips.

"Oh, no, please," said Elizabeth, hardly conscious of what she said. 

"Jane...said the same. Would you - I shall trespass a little further," said Miss Bingley. "If you might... I should not be sorry to know you better..."

Elizabeth, as directed, moved, and made space for Miss Bingley between her legs. There was a unreal quality to her motions, as if she moved in thick summer heat, and the air was flush with the scent of roses. Silk, trailing, moved over her arms, her shoulders, her face; lace, momentarily, laid its patterns against her cheek. Then Miss Bingley bent to her seated form. Her hands, deliberate as a physician's, pressed into Elizabeth's thighs with the same long strokes she had employed elsewhere, stoking once again that sensation of anticipation. Elizabeth, dizzy, could not but let forth a sigh.

"Ahh!" said Miss Bingley. "Ah, so sweet that sound - I must, I-"

It was clear to Elizabeth that Miss Bingley herself was not unmoved. Blindly, she reached up, to cup Miss Bingley's cheek as she had so often caressed Jane's. She had never, though, drawn Jane's face to hers as she drew Miss Bingley's, although there was a kinship between them, she was sure. Where Jane had found affection, so might she. And yet - Miss Bingley's cheek was not so soft, her mouth thinner. Her tongue strong, and sharp. Her hand, importune, so firmly adventuring beneath petticoats and stockings, and finding there unexplored and tender lands Elizabeth scarce knew she owned. "Oh," she said, transported. "What - what-" And then, under those clever strumming fingers, she felt her own body fold down upon itself and then violently unfurl, transported. "Oh!" she heard herself say. "Oh! Oh!"

"Elizabeth," Miss Bingley breathed.

Elizabeth reached out for her, and opened her eyes. 

The door was open. Beyond it, the butler stood, cleaning clothes in hand, dumbstruck. Behind him, the housekeeper. And behind her, paler than seemed possible, Mrs. Gardiner.

Much later, Elizabeth sat at the dressing table, where she was used to work on her private correspondence. She gripped her pen, but hesitance stayed her hand; her eyes drifted to the miniature of Jane's profile which lent against the mirror, and thence to the solitary letter folded under it... at length she sighed, dipped her nib, and set pen to paper.

 _Dear Miss De Bourgh_ ,

Elizabeth wrote.

_I write to you in haste, leaning on our brief acquaintance and humbly requesting you take the greatest care of Miss Bingley, so kindly and hospitably welcomed by your mother and yourself. She has suffered, I fear. For my sake -_


End file.
